


Sunday Morning Strilondes

by Luna_Lalonde



Series: Strilonde Friendship [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Poetry, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Lalonde/pseuds/Luna_Lalonde
Summary: Just some banter between Rose and Dave, with a bit of text just from Rose's perspective.





	Sunday Morning Strilondes

It is a morning where the cold air seems to stir without direction or purpose, yet moves almost constantly. The snow filled tendrils of wind amble across white lawns and through bony trees nearly imperceptibly slowly, and only one who sat and watched with ceaseless vigil for drawn out and frozen seconds and minutes would be able to discern movement from the wintery miasma coolly blanketing suburbia. This, of course, is what I have been doing since the moment I woke up and, as glacially as the outside world, got out of bed and succinctly plopped myself in the hard office chair that spins idly at my desk at any point, whether a derriere be ensconced in it, or not. Truly, to report that I have ever done anything in my life with “ceaseless vigil” is a brazen lie I have come to be able to tell quite deftly. How else am I to explain my seeming inaction for hours on end whilst the machinations of an unmotivated and uninspired yet constantly ambulating mind buzz behind my glazed over eyes. It is quite a bit simpler and more, let’s say, in character, to tell them I have the attention span of a bored god, viewing their creation with satisfaction, but longing for the intrigue of conflict.

As another tendril lazily laps against my window pane, emitting the slight noise of ice brushing by glass thousands of times, my computer, nestled among stacks of papers, organized by a system I have deemed “circumstantial gravity”, and books stacked in organization deemed “the span my attention could give to this topic was sadly set at an odd value as opposed to the number of pages of this book, and therefore it must be left where I can see it, for the certain occasion where my attention, motivation, and inspiration will return to it”, produces a familiar bright two note tone, slightly startling the low hum of quietness my mind has latched on to for the past hours.

I turn, not yet ready to abandon the glacial aspect that has dominated my world this day, and in savoring it’s comfort for just a few moments longer, as I am well aware of what those two notes mean. I involuntarily begin to alter the base running function of my mind, preparing to adapt to what I will likely be faced with momentarily. There is comfort in this too, though it is a comfort quite dissimilar from the previous state of being. My eyes meet the screen, and meet the somewhat garish yellow theme of my chat client, and the somewhat irritating but wonder filled flashing notification. It is, I read, on a name I recognize very well. I click the flashing text, and a chat window opens. I sigh with the most minute of smirks, and decide to engage.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 10:45 am --

TG: hey  
TG: what are you doing

TT: My answer would surely embarrass you Dave, in that you are likely just waking up from a sleepy stupor in a timezone far behind my own, and have not had the long stretches of dawn hours yet this lovely morning to accomplish anything near the multitudes that I have.  
TT: To spare your feelings however, I will give you a minute falsehood, draped in the guise of a semi-truth.  
TT: I am not doing anything but talking to you.

TG: yeah bullshit i know youve done nothing but stare out your window all morning  
TG: its sunday and i just looked up the weather  
TG: its snowing there and your hokey ass old soul poet brain probably has a huge word boner for snowflakes and dead trees or something  
TG: also im only one hour behind you lalonde and ive been up since like 4am

TT: Oh? Surely a bold display of industriousness has taken place in the half-lit hours of the strider household?

TG: yea ive been bangin out beats something wicked since my eyes cracked open to darkness

TT: To complete peace I’m sure, and not in another cold sweat, in the wake of puppet fueled nightmares.

TG: you know it  
TG: nothing but zen here  
TG: my mind is like an asian masters garden  
TG: i take good care of those tiny trees  
TG: keep all those lines in the pebbles looking mad clean  
TG: so i can practice my sicknasty kung-fu moves in the center  
TG: perched on a rock balancing on one leg and sending out brutal kicks skyward with the other  
TG: im catching sushi in my mouth while doing flips and shit  
TG: just absolutely devouring that raw fish and rice  
TG: and then i sit down and meditate the fuck out that garden  
TG: for hours i sit there and then i wake up all enlightened  
TG: bring some epiphany to the local village  
TG: thats how peaceful my mind is at 4am rose

TT: That was one of the most impressive and completely nonsensical muddles of asian stereotypes ive ever heard.  
TT: Which is to say, you have thoroughly convinced me. Also, I am impressed by the fact that you may split your consciousness in such a way to be able to achieve sleep and meditation at the same time.  
TT: In any case, would you be so kind as to send me one of these absolutely-untouched-by-terrifying-puppets beats?  
TT: You know how much I enjoy listening to your “sicknasty jams” Dave.

TG: fuck no your ears arent ready for that shit  
TG: its like advanced  
TG: all that zen makes for jams that are too deliriously sick for someone like you lalonde  
TG: sorry maybe once you prove yourself in the school of hard-kungfu  
TG: where im a black belt  
TG: and listening to my beats is an initiation ritual

TT: But surely these beats exist? Why not just a snippet to satiate my oh so bored Sunday morning mind. Surely that would not be too blasphemous.  
TT: I am practically frozen over with boredom Dave, sadly it seems that my hokey ass old soul poet brain has produced no earth shattering rhymes and meters, no flowing prose, and no phrases of woe.

TG: well maybe i find something hold on dont start making one

TT: But Strider, what of beats and fires, what of my desire, to thaw my icy mind today, through snow and wind and life’s decay

TG: chill out im getting a file

TT: Chill is what my body feels, cold and detached on winter’s heels, ill wait in zen for your beats now wary, like a kung fu master disturbances are nary

TG: here holy fuck  
TG: songfromfridaynight.mp3  
TG: ignore that file name  
TG: i made that this morning  
TG: im just basically a prodigy so i have so many ideas for sick beats that they have to get in line when i think of them like its motherfuckin rush hour at mcdonalds  
TG: take a number dude some hot shit is already being served

TT: I will take it that the fast food reference is analogous to the quantity over quality nature of your many beats that have been waiting for days to be made.

TG: fuck you this shit rules

TT: Ok, I will give it a fair listen, you have my word Strider.


End file.
